


Strangers When We Meet: New York

by wir_sind_die_Jager



Series: Strangers When We Meet [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ensemble Cast, M/M, Modern AU, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 13:13:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wir_sind_die_Jager/pseuds/wir_sind_die_Jager
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Souls scattered across the globe, one by one they are reborn and rewarded with a peace they were previously denied. Heroes. Villains. Victims. Predators. Prey. All is lost in the ether of time, or is it? Now, destiny has set the gears in motion for their paths to cross…though they are only strangers when they meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strangers When We Meet: New York

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series (of the same name due to lack of creativity).

_**Manhattan, New York** _

 

Reiner Braun loves weddings; everyone is so vulnerable and open with their emotions, with laughter and tears mingling as one. Weddings offered the prime seating to watch the best of humanity unfold. The open bar is always a bonus.

His amber eyes roamed over the reception, catching on the eyes of his friends as they whizzed by on the dance floor. It was getting to be that time of the night when the cocktails flowed a bit freer, allowing for certain inhibitions to be put to bed early.

The Lighthouse at Chelsea Piers offered a breathtaking view of the Hudson River, and with the twinkling lights of Manhattan as a bonus effect for this special evening, Reiner was compelled to go out on the patio to enjoy the lingering warmth of an Indian summer night. Leaving his dinner jacket and drink on a chair and table respectively, Reiner stared out across the water; a warmth spread across his chest, giving him a sudden feeling of comfort and familiarity. He chocked it up to the happiness of the evening and the booze clouding his barriers.

Slowly, Reiner became aware of another presence on the patio. Turning his head, he caught the profile of a tall, dark-haired young man in a black and white catering uniform, his black bow tie hanging undone around his collar. His attention was on the city lights, lost in his thoughts and totally unaware he was being spied on.

Closing his eyes, Reiner heard the sound of children laughing in the distance, talking rapidly as children do, in a tongue long forgotten, before the sound of an artificial thunderclap disrupted it, causing Reiner to open his eyes wide. The other man, handsome with solemn, dark green eyes, was staring back at him as if waiting.

"Pardon?" Reiner asked, realizing the man had asked him a question. Quickly, he tried to recall the strange moment he'd just had, but it was gone.

"Do you have the time?" 

"Yes," Reiner looked at his watch. "Twenty to eleven." 

"Good," the brunette said, looking over his shoulder towards the party raging inside. Reiner smirked, guessing the other man was out of patience for the revelry of the lingering reception party.

"Long day?" Reiner inquired. 

"Atrociously so," the tall boy contented. 

Reiner took a step closer to him, pleased that he only got better looking under the old fashioned light fixtures that dangled from the patio ceiling.

"The food was delicious."

Confusion crossed the tall man's face before he realized the uniform. "Oh. No, I brought the wedding cake; I'm an assistant pastry chef to the baker."

"I see." Reiner grinned. "The cake was better than the supper."

"Mmmm," The young man gave him a dubious stare before turning his focus back on the water in front of them.  
  
 _Oops. Flattery will get you nowhere, Reiner._  

"You do not sound like you are from here," Reiner observed nosily, not wanting to stop talking to the other man. It was more than his handsome face, yet Reiner could not explain it. It had to be his handsome face. Perhaps his calmness. 

"I could say the same about you," the pastry assistant noted wryly, looking askance at Reiner as he hunched over and leaned on the railing. Reiner turned his back to the railing instead, leaning his back against it. 

"Oh?" Reiner mocked offense. "I spent many years trying to cover up my accent. Oh, well. There goes my dreams of having the perfect Robert DeNiro accent."

That earned him a brief but genuine chuckle. "Whereabouts are you from then?"

"Novosibirsk, but I have been here for fifteen years." 

"Toronto," the baker replied. "I went to CIA in Hyde Park and have been…falling upward ever since."

"Falling upward," Reiner repeated with a smirk and a nod of appreciation. "I like that."

"I think it accurately describes my line of work."

"Climbing would be the appropriate word for mine." Reiner said. "I'm the assistant editor for Metropolitan Interior."

"Don't be offended if I haven't heard of it," the baker said, quietly brushing back a piece of fringe that fell into his eye. "The second I picked up a pastry bag I surrendered my ability to keep up with anything outside of the culinary world, decent communication with my friends and family, and any hope of a social life."

"So…does this mean I should reconsider giving you my number?"

"What?" the pastry chef blinked up at the blond man. A sudden burst of music and interrupted their conversation as a group of people opened the glass door and leaned outside.

"Reiner!" A woman called. "Come on, they're booting us out in ten minutes. We're taking the party elsewhere."

"Just a minute," Reiner said, waving his hand in a shooing motion. 

"C'mon, let's raid the bar before the bartender packs it all in!" One of the groomsmen declared, leading the pack of drunken wolves back inside. The peace and quiet returned to Reiner and the other man. 

"You should come with us," Reiner offered.

"What? Ah, I can't. I have to clean a little, pack up our equipment and take everything back to the bakery. Thank you, though."

Standing straight, Reiner contemplated the other man. Though he was around two inches taller, he stooped a bit and had a charming habit of avoiding eye contact. He was whippet thin; all legs and arms with barely a lick of meat on his bones. Whatever sacrifices the young man made in the name of cake and fondant must have taken its toll in more ways than just a social life. Reiner had the sudden desperate, insane desire to see the young man smile. 

"You are not the staff here," Reiner observed. "Your task cannot take much more than an hour? Join us afterward. You said that baking school stole your social life. Now is the time to steal it back." Reaching over to the chair where he had laid his black dinner jacket, Reiner drew out a square, black pen. Looking around, he spotted a cocktail napkin under his drink and taking it into his hand, quickly jotted down his number. Before the other boy had a chance to protest, the blond man stuffed the napkin into the brunette's waistcoat pocket. "There. Once you are done, you call me and I will let you know where we are. Then you come over and have a good time. No more wedding cake, no pastry bags, just fun."

"Well," the pastry chef gingerly cupped his waistcoat pocket, his flustered, reddened face visible in the ambient lighting. "We'll see, maybe…"

"Great!" Reiner exclaimed, clapping his hands once before swinging his jacket over his shoulder and making towards the main room. "I will see you later tonight. First round is on me!"

 

* * *

 

Bertolt Huber was quick to gather all of the meager supplies he had brought along with the wedding cake and thoroughly wash them in between rounds of dishes the Lighthouse event staff washed. They were at least able to stick many of their dishes into an industrial dishwasher and sanitizer; Bertolt had no such luxury, even at the bakery he worked at. Packing everything up and transporting it back to the bakery via company car, Bertolt let himself in to the small but endearingly quaint bakery and put everything in its place.

Once his work was finally officially over, he felt he could finally change out of the catering staff uniform. He wished he could have worn his chef jacket, but he supposed that would have come off as pretentious. No, better to blend in with the rest of the staff than stick out like a pompous sore thumb. After he changed back into his collared white dress shirt, maroon pullover and tan slacks, Bertolt checked the pockets of his uniform to make sure he did not forget anything. The cocktail napkin with the phone number of the blond man was the only thing he found. Lifting his eyes to the large wall clock he saw that it was just shy of midnight. Should he…?

The man had been drinking…maybe he had forgotten all about Bertolt. Okay, he wasn't even close to being drunk so maybe he remembered just fine. He was kind of charming in fact.

 _  
Fuck._ What was waiting for him at home? _A forty-five minute commute, a lazy cat that'll just ignore me, and a cheap glass of wine._ What was holding him back? _Everything._  

Bertolt stared at the number in one hand, his cell phone in the other, unsure what to do. The man had been so open and friendly in a way that Bertolt envied, yet Bertolt was immediately put at ease by the Russian's presence. Not a simple feat for someone who suffered from shyness as much as Bertolt did. What was it about the man that made Bertolt so willing to just talk as much as he had? It couldn't only be the other man's handsome face.

_Uh oh._

"Fuck," Bertolt quietly gasped, drooping his head against his open palms. _This is so not what I need right now._ "Fine!" Bertolt cried a bit loudly in the dimly lit industrial kitchen. He muttered to himself as he smash dialed the number of the man, unsure of his motivation, his plan, or anything, really. "I'll go. I'll go. I'll go. Fuck it. Right? Fuck. It."

It rang once, twice before Bertolt abruptly hung up, clapping the phone between his slender fingers. Looking around as if he'd been spied on, Bertolt nearly leapt off the steel table he sat on as his phone suddenly began to ring and vibrate. Clutching the phone to his chest as if he did not know what to do with it, Bertolt made a few desperate, pained noises before his naturally polite instincts kicked in and he answered the cell. 

"H-hello?"

There was loud music playing in the background and the sound of dozens of people having a thoroughly good time without Bertolt.

"You just called and hung up."

"N-no?"

"Yes. You did this."

 _Fifteen years in the country, eh?_ The deeply hidden sarcastic side of Bertolt snickered. _Then how come your English is so adorably odd sometimes. Oh, lord, Bertolt shut up._  

"Uh, yeah," Bertolt said to quiet his thoughts. "Sorry about that." 

"You're done with work then?" 

"Yes."

"Good!" The other man nearly shouted. "We're still Midtown. Hey!” Reiner called to his companions. “Where are we?"

Bertolt waited anxiously as a number of jeers were thrown at the blond man before he returned to the conversation. As it turned out, they were in some wretched lounge dangerously close to the most tourist-riddled part of the city. Wrinkling his nose in distaste at the poor choice for after-party drinks, he was about to decline when the other man interrupted him.

"Hey! You know, I realize now that I do not know your name."

"Nor I yours," Bertolt retorted saucily, albeit not unkindly. 

"Reiner Braun."

Bertolt's right eye twitched, a spasm in the muscle. He released the breath he did not realize he had been holding. 

"Bertolt Huber."

There was a deafening pause, and Bertolt was unsure if the call dropped.

"That does not sound very Canadian."

Bertolt rewarded Reiner with a soft titter. 

"Second generation, named for my grandfather."

"I see. So, Bertolt. Grab a taxi and I will see you in a few minutes. I'll text you the address."

"I'll be taking the D line," Bertolt replied absently.

"What?"

"See you soon!" Bertolt cried, hanging up and clapping a hand over his mouth before any other accidental double entendres tripped out of his mouth.

 _Holy shit, did I just agree to meet up with a guy I met barely an hour ago?_ The panic stricken, worrywart in him cried.

Before he could chicken out, Bertolt grabbed his jacket, messenger bag and keys, shutting off the light as he made a swift exit.

 

* * *

 

Checking his watch for the dozenth time since he hung up with Bertolt, Reiner finally decided it was a socially acceptable time to go outside and wait for the handsome pastry chef.

"I will be right back," he informed his friend and co-worker as he slipped off the arm of the sofa she and four others were smooshed into. She waved at him offhandedly, too deep in conversation to mind him. The air had the faintest whisper of autumn at the back of the full breath Reiner inhaled once he set foot outside. The subway was only a block away; he kept his amber eyes fixed on that direction, waiting, waiting. Bertolt seemed especially hesitant about coming out; was he just a shy guy, or had Reiner truly badgered him? Feeling like a right bastard for a social faux pas was unfortunately not as uncommon as Reiner would have liked it to be; sticking his nose in other people's affairs and trying to play the "big brother" was a habit he'd developed early on in life and never quite seemed to shake. It was just in his nature. Settling that he would cover Bertolt's drinks, and if the young man seemed to be truly uncomfortable, Reiner vowed to pay his cab back home - even if he lived in New Jersey.

A familiar lanky, tall drink of water with long strides was soon approaching; Reiner could not help the way his face lit up as soon as Bertolt came into view. 

"Good evening," Reiner greeted him. "Glad I could persuade you to come out for a little adventure."

"Yes, well, I'm not sure my cat agrees with you, but here I am."

_Your cat, Bertolt? Jesus Christ, why don't you just slap a sticker on your forehead that shows the tallies in the amount of time it's been since you last went out. Or got laid._

"You have a cat? Me, too!"

"You're kidding," Berthold blurted before he could stop himself. Reiner seemed too excited to mind.

"Yes. Isidore." Reiner gleefully held up his phone, a picture of a slinky black cat with orange eyes glowering back at Bertolt. "What is your cat’s name?"

"Timbits." He waved off the confusion in Reiner's eyes. "It's a Canadian thing." 

"Right. So, come on in and I will intro-" Reiner was just turning to lead the way when he sensed something was amiss with the other man. "What is it?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing. Yeah, let's go."

Reiner held up a hand as Bertolt moved to follow him.

"No. Something is wrong. What is it, Bertolt?"

Bertolt started, wide-eyed and stunned. The way Reiner spoke his name…Most people needed to be taught how to say it properly, but it just rolled off of Reiner's tongue as if he'd known Bertolt his entire life. _Stop that. Bertolt is a name from that side of the world; you're being ridiculous._ Although that only took care of half of Bertolt's astonishment. How could Reiner tell he didn't really want to go inside? What is he, clairvoyant? Bertolt scoffed inwardly. Whatever it was, he sure looked stubborn about it. Bertolt wasn't going to try to lie this time; he always did when he believed that his thoughts and feelings were inconveniencing others.

He visibly deflated. "It's just not my sort of scene, I suppose." His eyes looked beyond Reiner at the noisy entrance to the uber trendy lounge.

"Oh! Is this all?" Reiner shrugged. "We don't have to stay here."

"We…we don't?"

"No; I have all of my belongings," Reiner said as he patted down his pockets, checking for his wallet, keys and phone. They were all he took with him when his friends arrived to carpool to the wedding. He did not even have a spare jacket; the wedding was only a ten minute taxi ride from his residence. "Let's go somewhere else."

"What about your friends?" Bertolt asked as he turned around in the direction he'd just come from, following close behind Reiner as the blond man stepped on the edge of the curb and gave a sharp, piercing whistle. A taxi emerged from the shadows and pulled alongside them. 

"They're fine. Oops, but I should text them." He drew out his phone again, quickly typing with the thumb of the hand that held his phone as he opened the cab door with his free hand and stepped aside to allow Bertolt entrance first. "There," he said once he was seated with Bertolt, slipping his phone into his inside pocket again. He looked at the taller man, an expectant smile on his face. "Where to?" 

Though Bertolt's typical answer would be to shrug and let the other party pick, he felt that surge of comfort again; a little voice that told him it was okay to take the reins and relax and have fun. Clearing his throat, Bertolt gave the cab driver the address of a quiet, tucked away bar in the Lower East Side. The front of it looked like a Jewish deli, and made Reiner step back and blink confusedly.

"Are you hungry?"

"Not particularly," Bertolt said, leading the way up a set of stairs under a badly flickering light. On the second floor he came to what looked like the door to somebody's apartment, but was in fact the bar. A few barflies acknowledged his presence with weak nods and even an attempt at raising a glass. Shyly, Bertolt nodded to them as he made his way over to a threadbare couch by a homey fireplace.

"This looks like somebody's living room," Reiner commented under his breath as he laid his jacket next to the brunette. "What would you like?"

"Gimlet," Bertolt quietly replied, a bit of a smirk playing on his lips as he added, "And don't be cute with them."

"What do you mean?"

Bertolt merely nodded for the other man to go and place their orders. Giving Bertolt a curious look, Reiner turned and went to the bar. Scratching an invisible itch at the back of his head, Bertolt was amazed with himself. Who turned on the bold switch, and why was it triggered with this…perfect stranger? Though he was now in one of the few places he considered to be a safe zone, Bertolt could not believe he had just absconded with someone he'd only met a few hours ago. What the hell has come over me?

"I know what you mean," Reiner grumbled as he set their drinks down on the nicked and chipped coffee table at their knees. "I tried to wave my card, they ignored me deliberately. My phone buzzed and I almost got kicked out. They are very hostile, why do you come here?"

"They're not hostile," Bertolt quietly insisted as he raised his drink to his lips. "They just refuse to give in to a pompous Manhattan attitude."

"Are you calling me pompous?" Reiner scoffed, trying to sound incredulous, save that his laughter gave him away. Bertolt shrugged coyly.

They drank another two rounds, talking about their families, upbringing and the weirdness of America and American culture. It was a relief to find someone else as lost as he was in this strange country that offered so many dreams.

Bertolt was surprised to learn that Reiner had not been an especially popular boy until he hit his late teens; the cultural shock had made him a target for isolation. It was finally during high school that people took an interest in him, and once he returned the interest in earnest, he'd found himself at ease socially.

"I cannot imagine not working around people," Reiner confessed as they nursed the last remnants of their third round. "I would die to be stuck in a horrible box of an office, unable to see or talk to people as I pleased." 

"That's my personal hell," Bertolt admitted with a shake of his head. "Give me a sterile, stainless steel kitchen, fully stocked and a pile of custom orders and I'll be happy. I don't want to talk to the customer, I don't want to see them if I don’t have to. I just want to be left to my own devices."

As a comfortable silence lay between them, Bertolt suddenly became aware of the fact that they had somehow reclined into the hideous and worn couch, their shoulders relaxed against one another, Reiner's arm casually stretched across the back of the couch behind Bertolt. Not touching him, but definitely providing added warmth by its mere presence. The fog of the alcohol lifted for one brief moment as the baker sat up and blinked rapidly.

"I think I need some food in me. I haven't eaten anything since…well, I can't remember."

"Why did you not say so?" Reiner asked, giving a soft grunt as he made his scooted to the edge of the lumpy couch and rose to his feet. "I ate a feast at that wedding, so I have not thought about food at all. Okay. You think about where we go to for food, I'll close out the tab." 

Too buzzed to protest his usual need to split a check or at least offer some sort of financial contribution, Bertolt managed to get to his feet and not lag or stumble as he met Reiner at the center of the room. 

"Ready?" Reiner asked, his right hand instinctively going to the small of Bertolt's back as they exited the strangely quaint bar. Bertolt did not protest; he could barely detect Reiner's fingers just grazing the fabric of his pullover.

"I feel like sushi," Bertolt said with a slight whine to his voice as he made his way down the rickety, poorly lit stairs. "Do you like sushi? I love it. I know a really great place….uh somewhere."

Reiner chuckled; slightly inebriated Bertolt is just as much fun as regular taciturn Bertolt.

"Yes, yes," Reiner assured him as they stepped outside in the cooling night air. It had to be close to two or so, yet Bertolt guided them via cab once more to a sushi restaurant in the East Village. Like the hidden bar before it, the dimly lit restaurant only seemed to be populated with other service and hospitality workers just getting off the night shift. Still, it was jumping with lively conversation and they were rewarded with a peaceful table in the back corner.

"You too buzzed for sake?" Reiner asked. "I love the stuff."

"Nope," Bertolt said, his hungry eyes roaming over the thin sushi menu as he ticked off all of his favorite catches and handed it to the first server passing by. _I just remembered why I don't drink in public,_ an exasperated little voice said in the back of his head.

"So you assisted with the cake," Reiner said as he poured the ice cold sake out of its pitcher, handing the dainty cup to his companion before taking his own. "Which part did you assist with?"

"Oh, let's see," Bertolt sighed, thinking on it. "I made the ganache filling in the second tier, the vanilla bean custard in the bottom tier, the marble cake of the top tier, all of the piping trim…and I created all of the pearls and butterflies out of sugar and applied them when I arrived at The Lighthouse."

Reiner's eyes widened. "That sounds more than just assisting. It was a very good cake, you know. Best cake I have eaten at a wedding, and I feel like I have attended a handful these last few years."

"It's that time in people's lives," Bertolt commented, without really meaning to say it out loud. He quickly took a long sip of alcohol before he could say anymore.

"Yes, it is," Reiner agreed with a small chuckle. "I was so busy with my head ducked down, finishing my Masters and focusing on my career that when I looked up again…everybody had paired off and left."

"Mmmm," Bertolt replied, thankful a large plate of sushi was set down before him. Goggling at the amount of food there, all Bertolt could do was stare at it. 

"Is something wrong?" Reiner asked worriedly.

"Did I order all of this?" Bertolt whimpered pathetically. Reiner only laughed.

"Apparently so."

"Well…help me, I can't eat all of this!"

"As you wish," Reiner said, picking up the lacquered chopsticks and tucking in.

They enjoyed another lapse of warm silence, and despite the addition of sake to his system, the rice and slab of raw fish were soon doing their job and soaking up the booze-filled haze Bertolt previously fell behind, though with a lingering pleasantly buzzed feeling just to enjoy.

"Where do you want to take your pastry career?" Reiner asked suddenly.

"In a perfect world, I would own my own company. Or have a partnership. Something small, but profitable. I'll be lucky if I can eventually make my way up as the head pastry chef at a cafe or small restaurant, though." Bertolt let the tip of his chopsticks linger in his mouth as he momentarily lost himself in thought before remembering he was with someone else. "And yourself?"

"Editor in chief. Not such a far off dream," Reiner admitted. "Just got to bump off the boss first."

He'd said it so casually that it took Bertolt a second to process; a slow smile spread across his face before he bowed his head, making it invisible for Reiner's view. 

 _Damn it,_ Reiner cursed inwardly. _Almost got him._

  

They lingered over more sake and even more sushi, which Reiner was too polite to comment on, though a certain twinkle in his odd amber eyes definitely poked fun at his easily flustered new friend. The alcohol made it easier for the normally reserved Bertolt to get nosy.

  
“What brought your family to New York?”  
  
“My mother's second husband,” Reiner answered. “He holds the patent on some medical device, made it big and decided to collect real estate. Manhattan is one of the most desirable areas of real estate in the world, so, we moved here.”

“What's she like, your mother?” Bertolt asked, the alcohol coating his ability to give any fucks for being intrusively inquisitive.  
  
“Very beautiful, but she'll be the first to tell you; she is not an ornament.” Reiner chuckled as if having a private joke. “She flips real estate now, but a long time ago, back home, she was a regional favorite in mixed-martial arts. She can kick my ass now if she wanted to, but she has long since given up on that.” He paused before adding, “Given up on martial arts, that is, not kicking my ass. This still happens from time to time. She will always be a warrior to me.”  
  
So engrossed in conversation and those happy pauses of comfortable silence, the kind where they just simply enjoyed being in each other’s presence, the two men were startled to discover that they had nearly shut the place down. Try as he might to pay for his meal, Bertolt was blocked at every opportunity. He insisted on getting the tip, though, which Reiner obliged him. 

Their arms brushed against one another as they walked along the street to an area dense with cabs waiting for late night revelers to stumble out of the now closing bars and late night eateries. Bertolt found himself yawning into his fist without meaning to.

"I guess I should head home," he mused.

"Where is home?" Reiner inquired.

"Prospect Heights."

"I like that neighborhood, very much," Reiner exclaimed, his eyes lighting up excitedly. "Lots of history in those houses."

"Yes, there is," Bertolt agreed. "Don't get excited on my account, though. I live in the attic of a brownstone. Shit ventilation, but scads of history." 

With an appreciative chortle, Reiner hailed another taxi and they were off across the bridge and into Brooklyn. Though each of them looked out of their respective windows and stayed silent for the entirety of the ride, the tips of their fingers managed to brush gently against one another. Pursing his lips as he kept his dark green eyes trained on the midnight colored sky outside, Bertolt could only think how much he was not ready to end his bizarrely wonderful evening. 

Reiner let the cab go as soon as they arrived, though he knew he ought to be going back towards the city where he lived. Bertolt walked halfway up the heavy stairs before turning around and sitting down, facing Reiner as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, unsure what to do.

"You're not tired?" Reiner asked in a hushed voice, not wanting to rouse neighbors. This looked like the kind of street where families occupied most of the houses. "You should get some sleep."

"I am, but I'm not," Bertolt replied quietly, his face pensive. Tentatively, Reiner approached the other man and sat next to him on the stoop. Bertolt suddenly raised his eyes to him. "Where's home for you?"

"SoHo."

"What?" Bertolt hissed. "You…you rode in a taxi with me all of the way to Brooklyn, paid the driver and now you have to turn around and go back?"

Reiner shrugged, an impish smile on his lion face. "I wanted to make sure you got home safely."

Bertolt shook his head disapprovingly. "Such a waste."

"Not a waste at all," Reiner stressed, his face earnest as his amber eyes bored into Bertolt's deep green eyes; he stopped himself just short of clutching the taller man's hand.

Sharply looking away, Bertolt was suddenly engulfed in a hot wave of anger. Surely this strange man isn't implying that Bertolt is going to let him inside his home? What presumption. Not that Reiner had made any sort of official moves on Bertolt…aside from picking up the tab for their late night escapade and showing a general interest, that is. _That doesn't mean anything_ , Bertolt told himself harshly. _He knows I'm a lowly service industry worker and is being kind to my wallet because he's the one who asked, no, harassed me, to come out in the first place._

_Then why would he leave his friends just to spend the last four hours with you? Hanging on your every monosyllabic word?_

Bertolt suddenly stood up, tugging Reiner along with him by the sleeve of his dinner jacket. 

"Come on," Bertolt said, descending the steps and heading back onto the sidewalk.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere," Bertolt replied evasively. "I hope you have your MetroCard." 

"N-no. I have not ridden the subway since grad school."

"Then you'll just have to buy a pass."

Bertolt led them to the nearest Q line station, and stood waiting on the other side of the turnstile as Reiner struggled to remember how to purchase a metro card. Once success was achieved, they took the 4:12am train in a southwestern direction Reiner had not headed towards since he was a teenager. During the forty minute train ride, most of which their train cart remained devoid of other human beings, Bertolt and Reiner took turns lightly dozing against one another, their fingers gingerly hooking around one another. Once at their destination, Bertolt laced their fingers together as he got up and continued to lead the way. 

The salty ocean air washed over their faces as soon as they reached the outside. Making their way to the beach itself, Bertolt neither cared nor apologized for sullying either of their apparel with sand, wind, and the moist mist that came with beach air. Without even thinking about it, Reiner removed his dinner jacket and set it down as a makeshift blanket which they sat on. Reiner found his arm around Bertolt's shoulders, while the baker supported himself with an arm around Reiner's waist. Their heads inclined towards one another, the men quietly dozed, safe and secure in each other's presence.

 _Why, why is this so right?_ Bertolt asked himself over and over again, his eyes too heavy to keep open. _Why am I drawn to him? Why do I feel like…like I have known him my whole life? No, it's beyond that. When I saw him, it was like meeting someone I'd always known but never been properly introduced to until just tonight. That's insane._ _ **This**_ _is insane. I should have just bade him a goodnight and let that be that. But this just feels…so…incredibly…fateful._

Their breathing evened out as a light slumber took hold of them, the sound of waves crashing against the shore lulling them both to sleep. Bertolt dreamed of trees. Trees so tall and wide, surely they could have never been real. Not anymore anyway. From above, he saw himself in one of these trees, looking over his shoulder at someone he could not observe…but whom his other self surely spied. Just as Bertolt jolted out of sleep, he realized who his dream self had been gazing at. 

"Reiner," Bertolt said, meaning to prod the other man awake, but found his eyes were already alert as he gave Bertolt a tender squeeze around the shoulders. Their attention remained on the rising sun peaking out from the eastern horizon. Golden rays lit up the ocean surface, making it dance with the first glimmer of morning. As the sun continued to climb and herald in the new day, Bertolt turned to face his amber eyed companion, a shy, but wide smile spread across Bertolt's face. Reiner was already facing him, his eyes lighting up like Christmas Day when Bertolt smiled.  
  
A vague cloud of déjà vu fogged over Reiner’s senses as his vision blurred and he saw another Bertolt, younger by nearly a decade, the same shy and wide smile on his face. Though transparent, nearly overlapping with the present Bertolt, it opened his mouth and Reiner would have sworn he heard his own name being called. He blinked, and it was gone. A trick of the morning light.  
  
Bertolt studied his unusually close new friend. Kindness shone in that regal face that could look hawkish and menacing if it wanted to; easily so, Bertolt realized, his eyes studying Reiner openly for the first time she they first set sight on the blond man. But he is not menacing. _No. He is kind, generous, more than a little silly sometimes, protective and utterly loyal._

  
A shadow of doubt crossed Bertolt's face.  
  
 _How can I assume these things just by looking at him?_

Bertolt suddenly stopped wondering these idle, pointless thoughts, as he brought his lips to Reiner's. The moment they kissed, Bertolt forgot all about huge ass trees, mirror selves and questions his soul was not yet ready to unlock the answers to.  
  
 _My god_ , Reiner thought as their lips touched.  _I am home._  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> It ought to be illegal with how much I enjoy writing these two. Thank you as always to my beta, jean_huh_kirschnickerdoodle


End file.
